- the eternal muse
- ode to a young girl
- her hyacinth eye
- violet sublime
- evening on church street
- patti�s prayer
- the wake
- the monumental grunt
- o� manifesto
- the holy men
- renaissance man
- charred remains
- evening litany
- alexis trailorpark
- rushmore at sunset
- speaks to the soul of man
- the unknown beheld
- in sight
- gone dead
- to recover yourself
- ragged senses and sundered selves
- ritual winter
- once more for alexis
- full of grace
- death of the kiss
- the aftermath
- life by fire
- round her mortality
- the dying sea
- farewell girl
- the epitaph
- soul to solitude
- the witnessed prophecy
- �twilight lake�
- the laughing tragedian
- the yearling
- the haunting summer
- n. y. c.
- the eternal
- the deviled breast
- my grief lies deep
- angel of winter
- womb of deceit
- whispers of the eternal leaves
- the mortal words
- at the end of the path
The Mortal Words
“I am the master of the flaw. Nothing I do is very good, is very talented,
but the way I recover from it is exquisite (extraordinary, astonishing, endearing,
profoundly endearing, fairly beautiful).”
– R. Hell
... and so she stands still like a rose among realness imperceptible. By Lord Dermond [Daniel B. Dermond] Published by: BLAST PRESS 324B Matawan Avenue Cliffwood, NJ 07721 firstname.lastname@example.org gregglory.com
The Eternal Muse
In my soul, she lingers softly within the tenebrous haze and is now embodied by remoteness. Eyes, that clutch sweet lavender from the rain perfected skies, passionately embrace all time as veiled perdition dies.... Inventing her solace, my angel consumed a heart, not her own as I dreamed of her- adored her so divinely and unknown. She will shine and hypnotize in cruelly naked radiance for his distending gaze.
Returning to the sanest of light I do not escape trembling drowse and recollections-regret! My bloodied eye foretold, compelled to disturb this sinister grace. Remaining as I will in hourly veils awaiting the vilest soul.
Ode to a Young Girl
Entering upon this sanctity swept in by her uncertainty I peer inside a broken sense to reveal my shattered self. Tides asunder, I loved her eyes clear as night in bloodless skies green like all her souls eternal, she possesses all my whys. Lone wraith of laughter, she sends color to my pale cheeks as I have loved and hated thee and scorned my own defeats. Your sweet mouth, Intoxication- I revel on your cold salt tears that quench my fire, a sorceress mad, in sun-reddened tresses hurled to the sky! an angel has penetrated all this divine impurity- that tempts her by passion and fears of dreaming, and I too, who confesses. Sweet girl, lithe-limbed in this heart’s own creation- she is chosen to drown in my shrines of sacrifice, when sometimes I hear my own blood has frozen.
Her Hyacinth Eye
Her hyacinth eye, O’ grandiloquent nimbus. An eye canted, ebullient to the moonblind sea ethereal, incessantly clenching untilled verity. Below enamelled sky, opulent eyelids in a pondering ballet of dispersed echoes memories enchained, like suffused litmus pools espousing melancholy to impinge my soul.
From the moment of her leavened inception upon a placid beam, eclipsing bloods she rendered, her countenances redeemed. She swims in strangled magenta pediments that wend reinvented themes. Her sapient manacles of emollient light bend her blues! by dilation or those vast minions of rage that will rule and bring God to this wisdom created among her legions of coral rue. She poured herself to reflected unison, complected in the insistently starred night of lighthearted prosody that embraced her falling soul and elusive light, playing to her fictive schemes. Does our icy conception sequester and congeal my maundering spirits, imposed? Unwrapped mists that her imaginings construe enfold me and pinch this disconsolate eye with a most ephemeral hue.
Evening on Church Street
Pentecostal chimes summon saffron lights unfold rose in stone and shed these frail inceptions, our priested tear concedes. A tinctured church hoists the cloistral barb and recedes to the impatient weather-prophet who deludes the gradual moon. ‘Impatient souls renewing tongues imposed angels conjure thy tune, a braided ear inhales its ceaseless cry amid temporal swoon.’ ...and so said Miss Straw who strummed to us all, with a love for words and stories of the dead wisteria she cared for it troubled her so, orison with unbuttoned head. She held a poem to her heart.
Her cool jeweled eyes met upon a tug of lure, born of a sea and sky that conspire all time, foam blanking the effulgent stone wave lapse into minuets of mime. The ocean swells upon crystal sands and drops its sweet jade like blame to the sullen shells. Rimed wine left the stale taste of Jesus on her lips and remained as stars lie to naive skies and kiss veins in shy spores of light. "Tonight it is clear a good night to die or ride the virulent tide- ride desires of sea and sky and purge my resurrection."
It’s hard to rend ritual that enflames my soul, when all is lost! alas (hope and the like) rusted bloods of retort. "Generations upon generations came on humps of wood with twisted brain." Purged heads stuffed with gods, no centuries to hide my pain. Waters blanche my spirit at both ends like Chinese fingertraps. Chalice in terrified hands they sing... "Generations upon generations came on humps of wood with twisted brain."
The Monumental Grunt
She bathed in balded moon’s Warm poultice, with quavering Lip to the scarlet hissing She bleeds essential form In the rife sunlight, pearled And plucked. Melodious light, insurgent On mended eye, exhaling pride To unbidden suns, filial- Eyelid in lecherous oration Like a rend communion wafer Limpid by the ruck. Hesitancy of procession, My vengeance of memories decay And dissuade.
for the girl of a laughter unheard I O’ elusive angel. What purpure penitence does she so eloquently bequeath unto me in a love without bound but so unrequited? My sanctified soul’s but a tendinous shell coiled and pearled from within her as indigo silks, spired in the blessed elements that evolve among our intricate divinities. My dried eye, slow rising in credent regale the solemn temperance of her crescive blues, to summon up the virginal tear, she bestows jeweled testimony with a shard marbled fist speaking sacral tongues in infinite bliss. II O’ lone one. What pondering mind will try to disfigure her in all this radiant still? She was found in sabellian rue, glories! bound in ciphered light, sacramental and forever among cerulean vagrancy, the exalted night for her reified raillery. Her vision enwounds like a velvet glove and cradles the hallows of this profane skull no centuries confined upon her to rely as she swims within a purest of sky, entrancing my memories that in a lingering song die- as she, obedient to beauty’s last passing breath, pilfers laughter in a prayer. III O’ girl not my own. Why denied this embrace, with I bereft of your most vermillion grace? Your suspended essences which dance eternally play upon this loneliest of face, as you evolve in sweet orchid muses, from the dusts of the sea, the incessant intellect of the living wind’s plea. Eyeballed moon casts its glinting wink upon dawn’s foibles, inclined to sleep among the ilex, ancient trees that imbrue hope on a hollow soul. You exhale revelation that God has consumed to anointed perfection that conspires your moods, as I held you intently- alone and exhumed.
The Holy Men
Holy men descend With souls too nil In forlorn eloquence From false distil Our dried wines, Are full of heart Opaline eye shy Lyra spied upon A sonorous moon My dead memory Of delicate nymphs Sister of thorn Forests of green Without deceit, My veins darken Venus, barbarous In endless skies Sister of clarity.
I It was in his laughter that he had known that all that was was not his own. He stared into time with a dissipated face that tricked the minutes with a slow forced grace, until he remained above the highest sky, aerial suns sent solace from a heavenly sigh. The angels descend and the antlered oak climbs like open bones, shaking in mime as the tottering wren sings in roisterous altitudes his remembrance brings. Let the oceans’ repeal the sad moon’s cold tug, the lost burning prayer Despair, O’ Despair. II Sunlight stumbles to consciousness in the rudely blued luminescence as the sacred light coheres among bruised and showy oaks, that deepen in the green tears of summer’s long cloak. The sainted strains of coral sea that salts the air, mockingly in the dream’s eternal glide the incendiary keepers tame our uncertain tides. Disconsolate shards of a wave recede on the tables of blue, with coruscate delicacy that perishes within the lung-dead spumes. His furtive stares are darkly said rolling in winds like rimpled leaves that shriek existence in wishing reds out of all this rage, still spilling free, over thumbing sands to a silent sea the world’s calmed blossom had to be his last token rose and godliest plea. III Escape! and let this day be shattered that spent its hordes in trembling shreds, out of all the desolate days that mattered and disturbed the sleep of sleeping heads. The innocence of your step is ghosted in time. Each tongue of night returns to priested ears seeking words from the wise, and severed recollections from the old world of lies. The words and the trees are hanging in steam of the blades of his face finding their fruit, alive against the sky detached and solemn in a grave-struck place. Retire, and let this day be done that left you senseless, a call of the dead from within your will, you shall regain the rise sublime, with all your fears shed. The cradle of your soul is freed from all pain.
Our aspiring minds lost in flux, rolling up the soured detail save dying. Hollow; rolling a stale poem on stone ears he persists. How much is lost? Echoes shelving recollection, ringed with words, it remains crashing to excrement- and does not cease untouched by roar. Your face. A flower opens bride of terror Shall your rose close screaming with light? Alight the striking! in slanted freshness, be presumed present in careworn splendor semi-naked. recover, recover!
Blackness shed its stare on all Closed by the moon’s big hole Whose glow is idle. The mind flowed, smothered in bloods The children with eyes on a man Unseen hands kill. The stroke of repentance seeks a Strong heart, till soon it lies In the silken lair, Whitely flourished and knowing torment. The funeral candles’ flames ascend, Promising salvation As they huddle into this stroke of grace, The fires of Hell unveil dead memory- Burying indigence. Solemn vigil sways the slow evening rout Of crescent tongues and aging flesh, A fulvous multitude Whose disembodied shudder blindly rises In a song of remembrance, passing From look to look.
Alexis watched the sea renew its salty bloods, The sinless welling of the blessing waters That taunted her to rejoice in ringing infinity. Pinkened roses edged the weedy grasses Weeping to the sultry blush of fertile skies. Such beating upon her breast as the clouds Noble crepe lined a tender lullaby, dreaming. Melancholy winds, deep in thought on sands Wild and solemn as a living voice, considering The oceans that she held in her hands. She stared into the night of aimless dignity Punctuated with longing, bareheaded stars Tenderly straining to atomize an answer To awaken her sleep twisted heart.
Rushmore at Sunset
I Beyond the clearing of unspoken contemplation darkness absolves lowered sun’s furious stare tragically abrading a fluent circle of tongues. The glow remained, an imagism of stillnesses, spurning the obstinate measures of hired will awakening in the all-sudden melancholy of doubt. Golden flowers knew no bounds; jasmine dream slept petals overturned watery world’s scheme while sinking into the dying eye of blackness. The suncured day grew into a few pale syllables, blinking its retiring rose upon those living rivers of quartz that arose unto Dante’s view. Light uncorrupted by its concession to night, the blush-touched mirage set desire on the rock imploring man’s profundity in a granite sprite. II Eyes inviolate, unshaken in their prideful vision, are like wired red torches at a moment’s imagining swarming the ages to see what strain the peerless pursuit of those absolute truths shall bring... The rimrose earth remains in its risible dance, the tilted pirouette with a lunatic perfection, proudly affirming the sacred fires born of stone that are raging unashamedly in a free man’s mind. Vivant winds repeat their hymns, nimbly shouting to the rocks and the lonely dusts of incessancy, awaiting radiant grace and man’s conquering hand that carved its soul, tracing in the dead shades. A shining divination of Minerva bled, on cliffs and from the curls upon heaven’s white head, to purify all eternity that springs from her breast.
Speaks To the Soul of Man
I Must we live among this suffering still that calls the dull ache of sacrifice forth by a series of doubts or by folly bring the nodding flowers to wink at the sea? A man’s intellect is his supreme mastery that revels in a blink or in oceans that be; the spirits of sweet Shelly must ring free! And from every airy spire that a man adorns with fiery vision and torrents of thought, shed these inhibitions that touch our grace and spurn no beauty within thy golden wraith. For these are divinities of highest testament that consume fervent choirs in tender embrace, the solemn shades of our untendered sacrament. II Shy sunlight became the masonry its variations on a single theme, the inexhausted symphony screams to the sculpted heart of reason. Our dreams are as the centuries bringing their struggle to the elements, awaiting their final expression upon this sight, welding the courage to face a lifetime. I refuse to quell this mind to serve in sacrifice upon your altar, if only for the sake of some ghosts in heaven; for consciousness is not born of some dull erudition of wood nor the evil you dread facing and terror of its proof. The loves that we keep so divinely, indelibly holding our sacred bound remove the slimmest whimper of doubt. A lone soul crying upon the mountain tonight is blessed in these old eyes, that have seen the tortures of the wise and pleas of solace to the dimmest decree. III The lucid sunlight blinks its minutes upon stale ground and shifting trees that smear their reds and golds and greens to the silence of your sighs, opposing dreams. O’ insolent tendency! and sorrowful guilt, the hopeless mythic endowed corpse and ghost to know the unknowable, no soul in revelation speaking from your freedom’s deathbed I say: “To love a man for his virtues on high is noble and human, your emotions divine. Fight for your life and the virtue of your pride, the raving goddess of your purpose.” “To you who think the mind a passive effect or are unwilling to wish, must recapture your soul! for you are but an omnipotent spiritual embryo, O’ ye of burgeoning faith.” IV Upon these burrowing lives I must leak light! as the shallow moon pursues its own ignorance obscuring the glory of summer’s proud song that swells sublime within independent minds. The exalted flowers beckon bright at lisping sea as desire returns, magnitude of my will unreviled, and rise, rise rises to this youthful sanctity. so go on and remain certain in your stead with a mind unobstructed- eye to eye in opposing fires with utterance in the skies of uncorrupted rose, resolved to every solemn circumstance now dying in the intemperate rages of wandering nights. Fall will return to pronounce your crimes as moody heavens pour peerless judgments upon all this forgiveless grace, our leaning benevolence.
The Unknown Beheld
Arisen to the temptress cloudcrack of a lonely autumn day, skittering in alternating floods of sunlight, undeciding flows bending graciously, throwing out a limb for the ivies. I sit idly in heaven’s cloudy palm, divinity living in unsubdued grace with fire in the eyes of the beaten, until bodies are but a visible flame in the voices enfolding our darkness. Cunning night galled dead vanities, craving forgiveless in godly respite and bent toward a choiring foretold, the inviolate bending of stars leak in anonymity like colored enigmas. Winds rub the sea’s winnowing knee as I dived heedless tides of infancy only to find my heart out of praise, tumbling through our blue-salt seeds and shivering among the roving spray.
Does my ripened eye, glistering In tearful moonlit hold, Disguise its blinded hollowness? We tread beneath a thriving sky, A desert of roses dusting the brow Of one more flowing skull, To exult the torn shadow, something Rising from our loss of conscience Or the unmeditating of a heart. One recalls with disinterred shame The faint glissade the soul intends, Stripped cold in our misting rains, To soothe and purl the elusive char Of presaging joys, mothering salvation And perishing in the laudable hour. Our semblant souls ache and yearn As from the wrath of all human hope We breed eternal dreams.
My hands made numb, the salve For my soul gone dead, all by itself Dancing warm alone, alone, Likely to die by crucifixion’s ply, Pushing its vile on tideless stone. More, no more the lusted lip sings (memories fade the singular dream) How do I soot the raw edge again? Retiring rain drops spiritual head All to drain of the sensual rale, The sinking eye stares cold Black shot, half itself, flat Or gone dead.
To Recover Yourself
The trick of it is to cradle The small glass tit of hope, That no longer exists, trying To milk a dream from nothing. Rise if you must, inhibitions For the drowning of a prayer And behold a coma’s leggy soul, Dust churning unsung umber. Swill the rebus of coral gist! Pinchblades all desiring a rive In the jubilate of curing seas, I am the womb of faineant stasis. The divorce craved the miraculous In the torrent of naked vocables.
Ragged Senses and Sundered Selves
Ragged senses and sundered selves Remain faithless as I, no more alone Than bones feeding the sodden fold, Shining through things so often true That shackle me where sunlight blooms, My unknown selves hiding in the deep Of a mansouled tomb, the black blessing. Wind bled endlessly from shattered hills Like living prayers of the unborn root, And mankind’s fathering creation too; Waves crowd closer as I move to death And shed sullen husks of salty breath, Crouching in the eternal flames of dawn That grow from the dead angelus flames, Warming the seeds of a humbling youth As the salt pounds in my waking wrist. Wandering upon these soulless shores Light breaks upon her watering heart, Pushing tides below the oil of stars Staining a night with monstrous wits, My spirit clouting the quaking roar. The dreaming darkness assumes a mood In a hush of divinity, heart of scars, Or the haunting afternoons gone astry, The ring of receding devotion endures. Wedding pearls the waters of solitude, Shedding the scuttle in the furies of clay That forsake her dismay, unabating awes of the sea’s disparities of nimble blue. I lure her shadow beyond undying recall.
A ritual in the winter of the soul Sheds light to limb; the red cloud Assembles on the fluid grave. An infancy of anchored pickthorns Twined the moon-bitten rocks; bloods Forewarned the headless night. The winds of winter chill the bones Of Eve; the grey crested seas Prowl over watering wounds, In the drowning eyes of unfed womb, Choking dry kisses as life leaks down, Lost within the weeping ruin. A ritual in the winter of my soul Speaks to the newborn rose, undying Within its freezing skins. The sea-born wringing of the senseless Christens the stillborn heart, Whispering to the intemperate dead.
Once More for Alexis
She is set ablaze All within. The blankless sun Pinned a pearl drop Upon the hollow blue, Radiant pinions swoon In crystal vision She consumed. The heavens round, Angelic spheres arising Encircling each moment, Is no less painless. Fluency of holy shadow Born to stone Pours incessantly In rarified repose, Her eternal flames Of fury abound. She is beautiful, To be seen As beautiful by me.
Full of Grace
Black airs haunt The unnested child Empty as a prayer ‘full of grace’ God! My soul’s perjured, Mourning her glass coffin My black eyelids Awaiting the judgment. ‘full of grace’ Into the spiritual Of the golden ball, Graves of roses Pinning up the moon. Hail Mary, ‘full of grace.’
Death of the Kiss
When full skies hinge the fields once more Swallowed up in their graze of nerves, Uncocking the magic bones or fire, A matter of fluids that sucked me dry And fused its sight upon burial stones, The sun unscrewed the night’s turning tide. Though blind mother’s dawn was nearly drawn And all those plum voices, rerobing my birth, Assumed the witnessing hiss that cannot atone, Nor bend nor burn the air-banged bride That, unfired to her seedless vine Had hung her cross by mother’s eye. Remember me who struck the nodding shores, The ghost who strode a sea’s snapping rim? and did not suffer, the unentered skull That refused to smile but could not cry, That sipped mortal bloods from unknown rivals, Steered cold laughter as upgiven hearts died. Death glided by but soon spun its bud That palmed beheaded trees in the deadweed, Bent in the tilting sundries of infant scripture That are flowering in the late galleries of snow; Under known cloud strokes of the celebrated skies Fate unwound endlessly and left me all alone, Alone and faithless with her dying christs.
I can only liken it to Childhood... "Now this won’t hurt a bit." My last Halloween Caught in Fitkin, Water on the brain, Gilding stillwells. Torn into the truth In moon-clung silver, Tapping the spine, I watched the goblin Masks of death, I shall retire The artist within. "Now you’ve done it, raised a spineless liar. How are you the better for it?" My gaze falls unto heaven, Wonderously lumbering This mood, Watching from without.
Life By Fire
Silence abounds the white-fire tides Those misting swells bend the corals. The noblest seas and bloods arising, Unsoil the blues of the holiest light, The centuries gave form to lost truth! Proclaiming the moon by torch-lit ring, Prometheus inherited god’s twelve golden Flames, he lit the eyes of a lost angel By oiling the condemned wing. Undoing the reins of a higher love, The rose goddess unbound Ypsilanti, Her venerable soul so perfectly sings To crackle the crown napping bramble. Euphonies bloomed the unearthen skull Dance O’ Soul of a primal solitude! Balancing creation atop sky’s vanity, She consumed mother’s eye of its sea, The immortal waters of time. The living testament burning within, Recalling a tale from under the rib, Auguries kiss the virgin spring hymn. Alas! Atlantis beckons resplendently, No lone bloods rust upon the damned. I am the center, orange, peeling--- The flesh of Lazarus began revealing, Revealing itself to the revived choir, Wristing in the purloined fires.
Round Her Mortality
It was in the harangue of winter When heavens bore their humble ode To the sea’s eloquent tint and rove, Pleasuring in the pauses of rapture. Music abounds in the deepening glow, The roar for love; I cannot conceal Who I am alone, so forever alone. The awesome shades of unseen grace Fled the mysteries of amorous air Like a sunbeam or the dead thoughts That visit memory from sea to sea; The human heart and spirit willing, Spin like her shining starlit bead, Or the tender hues of vital beauty That consecrate this solemn moment. Skies composed a thin veil of tears Within a desolate rainbow, dreaming Daylight in the hearts of ever more, Bleeding life in congregating vapor That encircles those vain endeavors. Uncertain moments echoing eternity In the immortal strains descending, Become mute in our liquid sleeping, Lined with grief and twisted heads. Winds reply to the bluing fountains That lorn the yearning lip once more Or seek the mimes we pined in murmur, As we discover the shadows of remorse Through the intricate change of days, A quickening of morning immersed us, In a strike of earth’s bursting tide Drowning her forever in sacred lights That lamp the renewed moment of joy, We thirst for the spiritual dawning. Profuse wings settle their red ghosts Out of all these holier abandonings, Rising out of the autumn afterbirth With a saddened rose, her atmosphere Had left its wound, visible as mist. Her thin caress must live once more, The burning kissed from eternal lips That can never depart or sound again Through rock or heart or trodden den, She’s fled to a kindred heaven, fled! Azure lids and delicacies of breath Were cold among our purgatorial fall, Aching for the soul’s aqueous knells That chimed sweetly when beauty died. Weeping clouds grab the sanded wave Bidding the taste of salt-sadnesses, Strenuous tongues cold rising rung The haunting excrescences of revelry Disconsolate angel’s upward firing, Whispering unto heaven’s emblazoning. The moon soothed the blissful tune A sound of pureness, forever free, Like a saint worming the icy dream, Embracing the witless with melodies. Ethereal hands deceived the vermeil, The longing of her ocean’s strains That risk the bride’s shrinking scream, Beset with her darklings of miracles Gathered into the crescent of tears To touch the ripples of melancholy. Cruel as it may be, a reaping decay! But chooses no other god to roam for In the tremulous presence of truth That recalled what fell rings, The hearts of flowers, half opening. Flint-like, stars dimming asunder, Bowing to the children, washed away In the raven dwellings of innocence Where night returns, no tempest spent, Or on the bloody stones of remembering, The virgin who killed lost sentiments With the careless rage so momentarily Held as to pretend godhead confessions, Wielded in the deep deadened turmoil. The twisted tree is hewn from greys Like a hidden river of orisoned air Laughing in rapt inflections of veins Pulsating under the moonbound lair; Its jubilant hands extending beyond The thresh of untempered horizons, Dipping into the sea’s despairing, The poinsettial blowing of her love Washes into this immaculate sleep.
The Dying Sea
The barbarous tasseling of dawn Chills the sun’s feckless effluence With careless hands that duly scribe Its stuffless expiation and imbibes The choiring paradigms of ‘dulia.’ Tumult, the moon lit idioms rose In bedlamite strings of bullion, The inviolate sacristan has borne Earth’s paradise, whispering unto The Cherubims, forsaking the eye. Scriptures encarved the permanent Tears of silence tumbling blindly In the swilling waters of the heart, Lost lights burning the skinning Tides, slitting the tuneful throat. Dispersed innocence hailed summer’s Sprig, spurned from within a longing Unlamented urn of esurient heraldry, Dazzling immortality in leafy whispers, The spirit rekindles its wakeful rose. Purgatorial orations ride upon golden Tongues in the lordly dwells of elegance, Violent souls dream of death’s kingdom In a shapeless void, to lift the gates Of the unknown sea. = Searching in the narrow veins of thought That hover ‘round the transient mould, Awake! elemental as the windless bloods Stealing upon a sky, raising the fires, Inspiring blush on the brimming head. A moment’s ornament, worlds not realized In the darkness of our choking graves, Relinquished man’s unspent mortality From the indemnifying hollows of the Dying flame, exhaling a tender spirit. The incantations of the unwatched dreams Immerse themselves in red-crescent spheres, The unerring wilderness of an untamed heart. The verdurous souls pour, and the haunting Eye sheds no violet, I can no longer see. I can no longer hear those begone woes Or the gallows sense of ineluctable time, Embalming some viewless plot or glide That beams divinely in the mocking eye, With shining wiles, unwilling to sleep. Can I ascend from this blackened gyre To ride upon the flames or flower? Let no agonies curl from my breast Or break to save an untold prophecy, Chilling the lifted sea.
Her mutinous glance Comes to vision, Eyes that mollify Endlessly, the night’s Stony endurance, misting The pliant blues, Christening the ocher. Her raveled lavender Will walk forever, Acquiring the gods! Of vermillion whorl. Sun, the yellow Spur smoldering Ceremoniously In uneven seasons, Dissipates the wry Horizon, Seas insinuate. Lost girl, elusively Leaves in light Circles of air, Disappearing on A wave’s gentle Turning.
The blind winds have striven In their clarion verse, Floating in the filigree Of unseen awakenings Like the wintry leaf Breathing in empty airs, Uplifting lone heads. Clouds, like tiny fists, cleave to starlit harmonies In life’s thorny hour, To weave a dream, thought Or unconstrained memory. The heart’s faint echoes Writhe in the flux, Rendering immortal strains From intimate treading Of our bloodiest waters That salt the torrents Of a skull’s purest breath. The fiery tear ministers No pain, enduring purblind Crimsons; angel of melancholia Rousing the unbound ages, The living stream of evermore.
The poised white faces Murmur in piteous mouth, The brows of azure Climb the Almighty Into the raftered airs. Standing in repose Of God’s golden fire, Never shall it happen, This young man’s repair? Consumed in tall thought, I weep in suns of comfort, Worshipping a sinned image Filling my head, Unchilding the blaspheme, Naked on undinal seas.
Soul to Solitude
The lost mourning of my Unsoiled eyes, Divining the unwrinkled sun Of darkening bone, break Upon the violet sea’s shake, Blessing the threadbare spirit. The blue-winged trees Are ridden to sleep, Rain-rung and always rising. Her4 death was composed In the gardens of progeny With marble hands, I sought the obsequies Of a more solemn rose, A beauty reborn Of our heavenly root, The blossoming elegies ‘O’ innocence of youth.’
The Witnessed Prophecy
All gentle innocence converged upon this one sight. The spellbound sea enshrouded her reverent perceptions, inspired to awe and held in stillness with blackened eyes, eternal. A heart consumed of holy fire for all whose soul had met, in naked revelation, upon her does this autumn sky beget? Fingers of the sea, tenderly assumed the contours of her sole, imprints upon departing sands the shapes of dreams too visible. Her time wounde3d eyes emote their scorn, and hold fury as she’s descending, blinded by a moon halo, so goldenly remote. Eyes, and the complexities therein collect the momentary hues within her tender rainbow and are cleansed in the waters of a purified heaven. Rapturous skin, as a shell made smooth, whitened in the ageless hands of the sea, she sings among the moonlit tears. She, from all her hallowed anguish, reveals this living apparition!
The air grows to sugar. The anemic trees Are drained, mouthing Beneath the sky’s cracked lip Toneless and austere, inheriting Heaven’s unstrung yellow, Dusk impounded cruel Fluencies of sight, Needling the eye, Blind to abrading red tumuli Pinching the black stone, The rose-cut bluster. Pondering the silence, Wind rived the grey waste Of the bay Insolent head, unaware.
The Laughing Tragedian
‘fOR tHE cOLTS nECK pOET’ Your fatal assertions are astutely made. A voracious flower grips the black essences Of a rich recital, blessing the breath of life As the ranting imperative of a tearful infancy Unfolds us blindly in the thundering tirade. Forgathered tongues shed devilforked lights, Bleeding infinite blues from reds spines of fire, Carving their eloquence from a cold vacant mouth In the soulful compliance of your conscience construed. Elegance purged the unimaginative scribbling, Etching the awes of a Greek intention, Sculpted in ligaments from eternity’s limb That climbs to find your symphony unfinished. The philosopher, tucked in the holiest whisper Above the warm bloods of uplifting profusion, Asks questions of all this substanceless grace, The unclouded spirits of your ritual perceiving.
Tainted dreams leave me Bloodied and red-blessed, Displacing pitiless tears. Bodiless wisdom loosed The tongueless myths And elixive wicks, imageless. Too much is lost, unrecoverable And brutally endless, I walk beneath Paring earthskins Commanding god-tang, exiled white hands. The night desecrates A sky of indolent flint Clouding my veins Of gritted indifference, Capes of light Lick the bitters.
The Haunting Summer
Water illumes in the dwindling skies Skittering like sorrow, from eye to eye. In the solar suavity of evening’s stare, Fading and falling to ash, unreal, It is lorn night with a forgone light, Crimped with espousals of poignant white. And so the dealiest of our imaginings Is fiercely real, but like a flash of rain, the tearful elocution of a profound soul, So thinly torn, idly shaking sticks To brood pursuance and weather a feeling, The thrown stone drips, imposing cold tears. Those silvery hopes, restoring old magnificence Place their frail sequel upon the everlasting head.
N. Y. C.
The sapphire dreams shall daunt this moment flowing in lone spokes of ambivalent light, breathing their life into our minds of fire with the sapient veins still severed by sight. Threads of desire will haunt the bone-bent skull pinching the shoals of holiest torrent. We must try learning to launder the impure hearts of our memory and the endless elusion of the new night’s warm broach, pinning its romanticism on the dried heads of autumn. Catching my burnt tears in a vertiginous lilt of bluebell emulsions on a smooth-throated sky, with dead expectations and a veil of grey smoke that choke my praises in the black wedge of nigh.
Trees line the shapeless marrow like dead Braille as our perilous divers hardened in the arterial waters of the hourless grail. Images roar from the desolate claw mystifying all this ageless jibe, the keeper of our virgin tide that drums on stone. Free all your water-gods! erect among the unrelenting rose, the blood stringed hills lie where she will grow. Wasted plenty in brotherless dust, a blackened rind or citric bide that boxed my love, gristled in her velvety bale.
White dressed and wholly mortal, Death set upon my glass heroine By chipping at my soul, So bare when she died. The grave like the seas Drown our ills, Bloods bending a tide Of lunar silences, Tangled in distemper. Praising blind origin, The unbidden ascension Endured so, to mourn Forever our following And her christening down.
The Deviled Breast
The deviled breast And shawls of night Shale the dry Hatchlings of fire, Housing the shroud And feeding the spry Tide-swung ghost. The toe-snubbing sea Grooms the solid eye, Loved to a dullness, And absolves no rain By our watering sight In waves that forked The moonbled cries.
My Grief Lies Deep
My grief lies deep In unanswering skies, Those lime innocences That dark veins unwind. Delusive nights of autumn Sung, raping the senses As vagaries chilled The flame that raves Infernal sinfulness, Wed to heaven’s dead. Strangers stir under lids Of slowly spoken light In the lull of the hour, rapt on torrid thrones, Hindering the silences That spiral to oblivion.
Angel of Winter
Darkness stamped its womb-eyed heel On the invisible winds poising lordly moons; Mortal ribs grew as my famine flew From gracelessness unto a rendered death That fades from around her holy face. A repetition of the soul in continual airs, Torn over rags as your wily sins shed Bloods of white, so scrawled in tune, Shooting up the frozen angel’s wintry spoon, Torn contraries of the always blue flame. Dry eyes lash a sweetly tear-stained cheek As the sky raised its virtue unto heaven’s head, Undoing leafy veils to kiss her mortal wells As perfection heaves and nobility escapes Our thinning sleep; your forever is dead.
Womb of Deceit
My past hangs over me like a time worn cliff, beaten and made hollow by winds’ cruel fist. More like the cave hiding secretly below the baleful old tor, once holding shelter for the mystic Indian Who dared not venture. His sepulcher of days removed his soul, the wounded medicine man who razed his senses.
Whispers of the Eternal Leaves
We walked together down a path of green, the cumulus leaves turned their veins up unto a sauntering sky with its cloud like fat white spiders who spin their silken soul. The path seemed to float among sunlight as we came upon the shining river of time flinging its silver minutes into our hearts, awaking to flee the silence of our rhyme. Surrounded by autumn’s burning of dreams, we consigned to always be as one. A love rejoiced in by the voice of the leaves that sings and soars in a violet reprieve. A thunder-struck rock floods the rivers long breath, drowning the aimless passage of the mystery fields, to the sea as it sleeps in infinity; free to fling salts among the wind dumb trees. Alas! we would never be alone again, no sad bloods against the head of tomorrow, light had leaked its prayer upon a burning thistle and opened pour hearts on this finger-locked eve. Unconscious skies elude the clearest eye, truths uprising within their tide, as prose, all night blowing pink and white among the flambeaus reeds, a glistening face glows in the torch-lit breeze. Every delicate leaf I mourned promised its miracle to me--and to us, as we awaited the heart-shaped rain of spring. Life’s offering exhibits no irony on the untrodden path as sly dryads seek their fortune within the tacit rose. But she is the mistress of these virgin lands, an endless uniting of here and eternal, of all those mystic choirs that sway in her grace. I speak to you at the end of the path as we stare into the sea’s pensive wave and emulous remittances of a multitudinous sky. Mourning echoes call up forever’s faint ear in the boundless fertility of my unused heart, as light falls out from the tremulous rocks. We look ahead to the remainder of nature as age and ages return their certain intervals with irresistible horizons that linger above the mingling of seas; we exist in reminiscence.
The Mortal Words
Everything I seem to touch dies as desolation Unwinds among these mind entering elements. Do my suffering baptisms propel a new moon Of upending blues that grows to lax stature, Performing the sleepless rotations that feign My slavishly glued tombs of pursuant hauteur. The falter child found joy among sunflowers, Pollinated with racemed vision, of one grace That had the recurrence of an unbidden cortege. The one bluest day of my childhood, ogling the Prosperous orange, I climbed cliffs and rolled In nobility as the crimsoned sphere paused above Spring fields, the sincere majesties of the air That inhales life from within a celestial chest. You no longer look at me like your son, a child Writhing in the candled filaments of your hooded Glances that squint at blacker souls in undone Calumnies, the mortal words pronounced so well. The old day drops its breathless yellows to the Colossal pine pennants of recovery that quilt the Dead earth warmly within a lost watching hour. Infinite seas refuse to decay, my heart flubs— The greys and greens of sharpened persistence, All at once, my purgatorial loss of solitude, Gilded in whiteness that still retains my dreams. Regain the burning soul! out of shapeless ash, The eternal voice can never diminish or hush. Speaking of the wind a prosperous spring curses, Violence creates drama with my restricted eye As I dwindle and die in one lonely lost whimper. Within the rushed and dusty days, found amiss In the mind’s collect, we forgive secret lies of Collusive time, a lurking cry in veils of smoke. We watch the melancholy hours repeal these days, Concealing themselves in life’s deeper strains, As if by receding spirits that tomorrow retains Or by spilling of guilt retaining yesterdays, Watery hands close grip around my senses and in Sun-like fortune that is exultant in our darkest Heart, we shall find the strength of unborrowed Will that slowly repurchases a shiny new soul. I continue pursuing the vireo’s theme, closing Within the intimacies of an aimless air dancing. the soul continued in soundless motion, striding Toward torment to find its palmary regale that Uprose before me in the greeting circle of hail. The clouds conspire to close upon me, altering Untillable silting on the bleakest of sands that I sink into with a bewildered knee, o’ terminus. Wandering in sleepless nights of retrospection, The pinging light buffets my past parturitions As I watch the roiling waters oscillate wildly. I, the extoller of the exhibited principle, orb Swallower of the eternal march, repeat peerless Chants that ring, deathless throughout the ages. Exploring the inward, O’ celabrateur of bygones, Purporting the heroism of conquerors and kings! Who rant to the masses with a spiritual flame, The vivifying cry they carry lovingly with them. Bludgeoned by the motherly hands of unpent hope, Flaunting the spar with the living Achilles, for The sake of each perfect childhood kiss, I’m held. Will you seek the plexus of rolling words or find The limbus where pulpits descend, touching a psalm As you touch a friend, giving its body back again? The aria of the ecstatic atmospheres, I sing here Uselessly with leaves rustling at my feet, or at The liquid rim of life, with the sea pushing white Upon the shivery land below the pyro-blue crescent. Will you never understand me, and these languishing Rhymes, although they are so hard to follow or admit, The spirit that I see lightly rising, can no one see? Moving in the breath of rousing unrest, I ceaselessly Envision the corpse of me and the burial of my words. Murmurs and echoes still summon me with their charm Invoking a sadness inherent in the tympan of waves, The sources of my perpetual rains, so faint-so far. I shall create like a ‘Vesuvius Man’, summoning an Angel to this hallowed land, the proving grounds of My glass soul that glitters with a radiance unknown. The sun sets, and the sea’s waves lapse into silty Tides, ebbing and quelling the universal time as I Return like slim Silvanus to the silk-cotton trees.
At the End of the Path
Grant me a wisp of sunlight From the silent undulations of blue, Playing in momentary splendor Upon the softness of your face As you leave and are leaving. ‘There is no divinity only a hollow longing.’ The gentleness of our caress Warms my stubborn beatitudes As I inhale your tender spirit with a crushed lung; I use every breath of my being. So now you leave me, your warm Rings encircling my empty soul unseen, unheard.